Cigarettes
by Obsidian Rose Clayton
Summary: A short snippet. As Uni roommates, Sherlock begins to feel the withdraws of not smoking. How far will he go to get his case back?


'I'm BORED', Sherlock started. This is how our nights were as roommates. Homework for two hours then scavenging around got entertainment until we got tired. I shook my head and continued scrolling down my computer screen.

'I'm not giving you a gun again, Sherlock. Last time that happened, you almost got expelled from the university. If it weren't for me covering your ass last minute, you'd be out of here.'

He let out an over-dramatic groan and arched back, his arms flopping around lazily.

'But I'm bored! Don't you get it, John?' He dropped onto the couch with another loud grunt and I glanced at him before looking back at my computer. 'I want to shoot something...'

'Then play a video game. The Playstation is right there.'

'But it's so dull. The plots are all the same. There's no originality to it at all. Kill the enemies, gain stats, beat the level. There is no POINT!' He emphasized every word in the last statement, snapping the syllables out one by one. He rolled off the couch the suddenly hopped to his feet.

'I have a better idea,' He chippered, a sly smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. That look on his face, I knew it from a mile away.

'No... No, NO! You said you were quitting cold turkey!' I slammed the lid of my computer down and slid it onto the end table, returning his gaze. It was rather difficult to match his 1.83 meters with my 1.52. Irritated, he rolled his eyes, slumping his shoulders and running his hands through his dark brown curls.

'You don't understand, you don't understand.' He continued, spinning on his heel and heading towards his bedroom. I exhaled, almost scoffing, before stepping towards his room. A sudden crash of books stopped me in my tracks before I had a chance to walk through the door, instead I leaned against the door frame and folded my arms.

'What are you doing?' I questioned. Sherlock threw around another pair of pants, then trousers and muttering under his breath. With each mutter, his statement rose until it was audible.

'Where are they?!' He stopped and turned to me, his lip pouting out and eyes glimmering. 'John. My cigarettes, please.'

I chuckled and shook my head, sliding the pack out of my pocket and holding it between my fingers. 'You know the deal.' He reached out to grab at the cigarettes but I pulled back last minute, just out of arms length. I slid them back into my pocket when Sherlock let out yet another exasperated sigh.

'What do you want me to do?'

A crafty grin crept onto my face. He knew what I wanted. I was going to make him dance.

'I'm not singing karaoke again. I'm not wasting a space in my mind palace for foolish lyrics from Josh Groban.' he added, not skipping a beat.

'Foolish? Josh is far from foolish. His voice is legendar-'

'Legendary means nothing to me. Who's sleeping with who, who's famous, who sings like what. It's all useless mundane facts to me. There's no use for them in my work, nor in the future.' His expression dropped, pausing for a moment. 'Besides, I sang all the songs I know by him. You're not leaving me with much else.'

I shrugged, stepping out from his door frame and walking back into the living room. Of course, as I held his pack hostage, he followed me. Pulling my laptop back into my lap, I flipped it open, ready to be done with his pestering.

'John, what do you want me to do? I'm running out of ideas. I made you tea, I sang Josh Groban, I'm running dry here.' His voice pleaded.

'Sherlock, are you begging?' I chuckled, looking up from my screen. He stood up straight and flattened his shirt, lifting his chin condescendingly. His desperate eyes looked down to me. 'No.'

Finally, breaking into laughter, I drenched my statement in as much sarcasm as I could muster.

'I know what you can do. How about dress in drag and do the hula?' Almost like I commanded it, he turned and wandered away to his room again.

'I still don't understand why you made me sit through an hour and a half of mindless torture!' He screamed through his door.

'I wouldn't call it mindless torture. I believe your childhood was torture. I can't fathom how you managed to live life without Disney. I mean, it's essential to any childhood. How did you survive without it?'

'Oh, I was too busy with Latin and French to pay any atten- OW.' Silence fell for a moment before he spoke up again. 'Attention.'

'But what did you do i-...Never mind. Don't answer that.' I waved my hand dismissively, almost out of habit, and looked up to see this tower of a man dressed in a little black dress, red pumps, and a dark brown wig over his head. His eyelashes were black and one eye had speared mascara. That must have caused his yelp of pain I heard. A red scarf wrapped around his neck lazily, Around his hips tied a plastic green grass skirt we somehow managed to swipe from a luau the college hosted earlier in the semester. His face was irritated and tired and he finally muttered out the beginning of the song in an equally exhausted mono-tone voice.

'Luau. If you're hungry for a hunk of fat and juicy meat. Eat my buddy WATSON here because he is a treat. Come on down and dine on this tasty swine. All you have to do it get in line. Are you achin'?' He stopped and looked at me, almost as if he wanted me to take part. Out of pity for the man, I obliged.

'Yup, yup, yup.'

'For some bacon?'

'Yup, yup, yup'

'He's a big pig'

'Yup, yup.'

'You can be a big pig too. Oi!' With the last word, he lifted his arms behind his head and shoved his hips forward a little too well for someone with little to no sex drive. I broke down laughing again and I felt as he scowled at me.

'Am I just here for your entertainment?'

'Well, I know I'm just here for yours so why not make it a two way street?' I eventually sputtered out.


End file.
